Love's Ashes, Archer's Regret

Francesca Freeman had loved Archer Collins for ten years, ever since her father brought the skinny, silent boy home from the streets. He became her brother in name, but in her heart, he was always something more.

Then, on the night he proposed, she overheard his chilling conversation with Amelia Ball: their engagement was merely the first step in his calculated revenge to destroy her family.

Every kiss, every tender word since, was a lie. He called her sick, a monster, and had his men beat her, all while she endured, knowing she was just a pawn in his cruel game. He even gave her murdered mother's last memento to Amelia, the very woman who orchestrated the fire that killed her.

She couldn't comprehend such betrayal from the boy she had loved, the one who had vowed to protect her. Why did he believe Amelia's lies over her, over the family who took him in?

With her heart turned to ash, Francesca Freeman made a choice: she would erase her identity, disappear completely, and leave Archer to face the consequences of his own blind hatred.

Chapter 1

Francesca Freeman had loved Archer Collins for ten years. It started the day her father brought the skinny, silent boy home from the streets, his eyes full of a darkness that she, a New York heiress, had never seen before. The Freemans adopted him, and he became her brother in name, but in her heart, he was always something more.

For years, he was just Archer, the quiet boy who followed her around, the one she protected and bossed in equal measure. Then, everything changed.

A lawyer from Silicon Valley showed up one day. Archer Collins, the homeless teen, was actually Archer Sterling, the lost heir to a massive tech empire. The news was a shock, but for Francesca, it only made one thing clearer.

Her feelings for him were no longer a teenage crush. They were real.

After he settled his family affairs, he returned to New York. He didn't come back as the quiet boy she knew. He came back as a man of immense power and wealth, a man who could have anything he wanted.

And he said he wanted her.

He proposed under the stars on the rooftop terrace of their family home, the city lights twinkling below them like a carpet of diamonds. He held a ring that glittered so brightly it hurt her eyes.

"Frankie," he said, his voice low and serious, "marry me."

Francesca' s heart pounded in her chest. This was everything she had ever dreamed of. For ten years, she had loved him, and now, he was asking her to be his wife. She felt a joy so pure and overwhelming it brought tears to her eyes.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Yes, Archer. Of course, yes."

He slipped the ring on her finger and pulled her into a deep kiss. For a moment, the world was perfect. She was going to marry the man she loved. Their life together was finally beginning.

Later that night, unable to sleep from the excitement, she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. She was about to turn on the light when she heard Archer's voice from the adjoining study. He was on the phone.

She froze, a happy smile still on her face, ready to go in and surprise him. But his next words stopped her cold.

"Don't worry, Amelia. The engagement is just the first step."

His voice was different. It was cold, stripped of the warmth he had shown her just hours before. It was a voice she had never heard him use.

"I can't stand the sight of her," he said, and Francesca felt the air leave her lungs. "Every time she looks at me with those worshipful eyes, it makes me sick."

He was talking about her.

"She and her whole family will pay for what they did to you. I'll make Francesca Freeman the laughingstock of New York, and then I'll destroy everything the Freemans own. This marriage is how I'll do it. It' s for you, Amelia. It' s all for you."

The glass of water she hadn't yet poured felt heavy in her hand, though it was empty. Her engagement ring, once a symbol of her wildest dreams, now felt like a shackle. The beautiful future she had imagined just moments ago crumbled into dust.

She backed away from the door silently, her body numb. She went to her room and called her lawyer.

"I need to cancel my identity," she said, her voice flat and emotionless.

"Miss Freeman, that's a complex process. It could take up to a week."

A week. Francesca laughed, a dry, humorless sound. A week to erase a lifetime. A week to endure his fake affection, his staged romance, his cruel, calculated revenge.

She hung up and walked back into the living room. Archer was there, humming a tune as he made her a cup of chamomile tea, just like he used to when they were younger and she couldn't sleep. He smiled at her, the picture of a loving fiancé.

The Freemans had adopted Archer when he was fifteen. He was a scrawny, defiant kid who had been through the foster system and trusted no one. Francesca, who was used to getting her way, had declared him her personal project.

"You're my little brother now," she had announced, grabbing his arm. "That means you have to listen to me."

He had tried to shake her off. "I'm not your anything."

She had simply tightened her grip, a stubborn set to her jaw. "Wrong. You live here now. You're mine."

In those early days, she was a little tyrant. She'd pinch his arm hard if he didn't answer when she called him.

He hated it. "Don't touch me," he would hiss, batting her hand away.

She'd just smirk. "I'll touch you all I want. You're my brother."

But now, years later, he was the one reaching for her. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Couldn't sleep?" he murmured into her ear.

Francesca flinched, her entire body stiffening at his touch. The embrace that would have thrilled her yesterday felt like a cage today. She pulled away from him.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice tight. "Just thirsty."

He didn't seem to notice her coldness. "I made you some tea. Your favorite."

He handed her the steaming mug. She looked at it, then at his face. The face of the man who loved her. The face of the man who hated her.

Everyone in New York thought their story was a fairy tale. The heiress and the orphan, non-biological siblings turned lovers. A modern romance for the ages. They had no idea it was a tragedy.

She remembered the proposal again. The helicopter ride over the glittering city, the rooftop covered in thousands of white roses, the way he had knelt before her. He had looked at her with such intensity, such fire in his eyes.

"Frankie," he had whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I've loved you for so long."

He had kissed her then, a kiss so passionate it left her breathless. It felt so real.

She had been completely fooled.

That night, she woke again, a cold dread filling her. She crept out of her bed and stood by the study door once more. His voice drifted out again, this time laced with a venom that made her stomach churn.

"Yes, Amelia, I promise. Soon. Once I have everything, I'll discard her like trash. You are the only one I've ever loved."

She didn't need to hear any more. She crept back to her room and picked up her phone. The confirmation email from her lawyer was there. The process to erase Francesca Freeman had begun.

Her heart, which had burned so brightly with love for him, was now just a pile of cold ash. It was all a lie. His love, his proposal, their future.

He didn't love her. He loved Amelia Ball, the daughter of their former estate manager.

And he was only with Francesca to ruin her. To get revenge for something she couldn't even comprehend.

She looked at her reflection in the dark window. Her family, her name, her legacy. He wanted to destroy it all. She wouldn't let him. If the price of protecting her family was her own heart, her own existence, then so be it.

She would play his game for one more week.

The next morning, he found her staring out the window. "What's wrong, Frankie? You seem distant."

His voice was filled with fake concern.

She turned to him, forcing a small smile. "I was just thinking. When did you realize you loved me, Archer?"

He smiled back, a perfect, practiced smile. "The moment I saw you again after all those years. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I knew I couldn't live without you."

The lie was so smooth, so effortless. It made her sick.

She nodded slowly. "I see."

"I'm bringing Amelia over later," he said casually. "She's so excited about the wedding. I thought she could help you with some of the planning."

Francesca' s smile didn't waver, but inside, she felt a piece of her die. The final week had begun.

Amelia Ball arrived looking like a wilting flower. She was dressed in a simple, pale dress and clutched a small handbag as if it were a life raft. Her eyes were wide and watery when she saw Francesca.

"Frankie," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm so happy for you and Archer."

"Are you?" Francesca replied, her voice sharp. "I wasn't aware we invited you."

Archer immediately stepped forward, putting a protective arm around Amelia's shoulders. "Frankie, be nice. Amelia is our guest."

Amelia shrank against him. "It's okay, Archer. I know Frankie has never liked me. I shouldn't have come."

"Nonsense," Archer said, his tone hardening as he looked at Francesca. "It's Amelia's birthday next week. I want to throw her a party here, to properly introduce her to our friends."

He was using their home to elevate his real love interest, right in front of his fiancée. The audacity was breathtaking.

"We all grew up together," Archer continued, a false cheerfulness in his voice. "We're family."

"Yes, family," Amelia echoed softly, then she took a step toward Francesca. "Frankie, I know we've had our differences. I was hoping... I was hoping you could forgive me."

Before Francesca could respond, Amelia did something extraordinary. She dropped to her knees.

"Please, Frankie. Forgive me. I just want us all to be happy."

It was a performance worthy of an award. The poor, victimized girl, begging for forgiveness from the cruel heiress. Francesca felt a surge of hot anger.

Amelia looked up, her eyes swimming with tears, and glanced at Archer. It was a silent plea for him to rescue her.

Archer rushed forward and pulled Amelia to her feet. "Amelia, what are you doing? You don't have to do this."

He held her close, stroking her hair as she sobbed into his chest. Then he turned his furious gaze on Francesca.

"Look what you've done," he hissed. "Can't you show an ounce of compassion? Her family lost everything because of yours. Her father lost his job, and they've been struggling for years."

Francesca stared at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Her father retired with a full pension. My father gave him a generous bonus."

"Don't lie, Francesca!" Archer's voice was sharp. "Amelia told me everything."

"And you believe her?" Francesca' s voice cracked. "You believe her over me? Over my family, who took you in?"

"Stop it!" Archer yelled. "Just stop being so cruel!"

Francesca' s mind reeled. It was her mother's anniversary next week. The anniversary of her death in a fire at their estate. A fire that had consumed the most important person in her life.

And he wanted to throw a party for Amelia.

"Get out," Francesca said, her voice low and trembling with rage. "Both of you, get out of my house."

Archer looked at her as if she were a monster. "Frankie, I don't know what's gotten into you."

He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away. He was trying to placate her, to keep his revenge plot on track.

"Let's all just calm down," he suggested, his voice softening into that fake, gentle tone she now despised. "Why don't we all sit down and talk this through?"

"I'm leaving," Amelia whimpered, interrupting him. She pulled away from Archer, her face a mask of tragedy. "I'm just causing trouble."

She turned and ran from the room, her sobs echoing down the hall.

Without a second's hesitation, Archer ran after her. "Amelia, wait!"

Francesca stood alone in the grand living room, the silence ringing in her ears. He had always done this. He had always run to protect her.

She remembered when they were teenagers. A group of boys from a rival school had cornered her, taunting her about her family's wealth. Archer, who was still skinny and short for his age, had launched himself at them without a thought.

He had been her shadow then, her protector. He' d get into fights for her, taking punches meant for her and never complaining. He would stand in front of her, his small body a shield, and glare at anyone who dared to look at her the wrong way.

He got a black eye and a split lip that day. He' d spent the whole fight making sure she was untouched.

When it was over, he had turned to her, blood dripping from his mouth, and his first words were, "Are you okay, Frankie?"

She had held his face in her hands, her heart aching for him. He was her fierce, loyal boy.

When had he changed? When had his loyalty shifted so completely to Amelia?

Francesca let out a bitter laugh. It didn't matter when. It had happened. The boy who would have taken a punch for her was now the man who would stand by and watch her burn.

The party for Amelia was a grand affair. Archer had spared no expense. He had transformed the ballroom into a fantasy land of flowers and twinkling lights, all to introduce the estate manager's daughter to New York high society.

Amelia stood at the top of the stairs in a custom-made gown, a vision of demure beauty. She smiled shyly as Archer took her hand.

"Do I look okay, Archer?" she asked, her voice soft and full of feigned insecurity.

It was a performance, and everyone was buying it.

Archer' s eyes softened as he looked at Amelia. It was a look of genuine tenderness, a look he had never once given Francesca, not even when he proposed.

"You look beautiful, Amelia," he said, his voice a low caress. "More beautiful than anyone here."

Francesca felt a sharp pain in her chest, but she pushed it down, replacing it with cold fury. She walked toward them, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor.

"Well, well," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "If it isn't the guest of honor. You clean up nicely, Amelia. For a servant's daughter."

The words were cruel, and she knew it. But the sight of them together, looking so much like the perfect couple, had stripped away her composure.

Archer's face hardened, his eyes turning to ice. He looked at Francesca with pure disgust. "Apologize to her. Now."

Amelia tugged on his arm, her eyes filling with tears. "It's alright, Archer. Frankie's just upset. I understand."

She turned to Francesca, a picture of wounded innocence. "We used to be friends, Frankie. Remember when we were little? We shared everything."

"Oh, I remember," Francesca said, her voice dangerously low. "I remember you always wanting what was mine. You even had a nickname for Archer, didn't you? 'Archie.'"

The use of the childish nickname was a deliberate jab. It was a name only Amelia used, a symbol of their secret, shared history.

Francesca saw a flicker of triumph in Amelia's eyes before they filled with tears again.

"You gave me this dress, Archie," Amelia said to him, gently touching the fabric of her gown. "It's my favorite color."

Francesca' s blood ran cold. She recognized the design. It was one of her own, a sketch from her private portfolio. A design she had shown only to Archer.

She remembered Amelia trying to steal her design sketches back in college, claiming they were her own. Francesca had been furious.

"You're a thief, Amelia," Francesca said, her voice shaking with rage. "That design is mine. You stole it, just like you always do."

Amelia gasped and stumbled backward, collapsing into a heap on the floor as if Francesca had struck her. "Frankie, no! Why would you say that?"

She crawled toward Archer, grabbing the hem of his pants. "Archie, help me. She's scaring me."

Archer knelt, his face a mask of fury directed at Francesca. He helped Amelia up, his touch gentle. "It's okay. I'm here."

He looked at Francesca, and his eyes were full of a hatred so profound it felt like a physical blow. "You're unbelievable. You can't stand to see anyone else happy, can you?"

Francesca felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. He didn't believe her. He would never believe her.

Later that evening, she approached him, holding a small, velvet box. It was a peace offering, a desperate, last-ditch effort. Inside was a pair of antique diamond cufflinks she had bought for him.

"Archer," she said softly. "I'm sorry for my behavior earlier."

He took the box without looking at her. He opened it, glanced at the cufflinks, and then walked over to Amelia.

"Here," he said, handing the box to her. "A little something for your father."

He had given her gift, a gift meant for him, to the family of the woman he truly loved. It was a rejection so total, so complete, that she could barely breathe.

"Don't worry, Amelia," he said, turning back to her with a smile. "I'll get you that design studio you've always wanted. Anything you desire."

Francesca watched them, a wave of nausea washing over her. She turned to leave, wanting only to escape their suffocating display of affection.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash. A massive, decorative ice sculpture at the center of the room had become unstable and was toppling over. It was heading straight for where Amelia and Francesca stood.

In a split second, Archer moved. He threw himself in front of Amelia, shielding her with his body as the massive block of ice shattered around them.

He didn't even look at Francesca.

A large shard of ice flew through the air, striking Francesca hard in the side. The force of the impact knocked her off her feet. She cried out in pain as she hit the floor.

Her vision blurred. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Archer holding a terrified Amelia, whispering words of comfort into her hair, completely oblivious to the fact that his fiancée was bleeding on the floor just a few feet away.

She woke up in a sterile white hospital room. The first thing she saw was Amelia, sitting by her bed, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

"Oh, Frankie, you're awake," Amelia cried, her voice thick with fake concern. "I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault."

Francesca just stared at her.

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have gotten hurt," Amelia continued, her performance flawless.

"You're right," Francesca said, her voice raspy. "It is your fault. You're a curse. Everything bad that has ever happened to me is because of you."

Amelia recoiled, her eyes wide with shock. "Frankie! How can you say that?"

Archer walked in at that moment, his face a thunderous mask. "How can you be so cruel? She's been sitting by your bedside all night, worried sick about you, and this is how you treat her?"

"She's an actress, Archer," Francesca said, looking past him, out the window. "And you're her most devoted fan."

He ignored her words. "You've always been like this. Spoiled, selfish, and cruel."

Francesca turned her head slowly to look at him. "You once swore you would protect me, Archer. Remember that?"